The Party Girl's Invitation

by Karen Elaine Campbell

  He turned abruptly on his heel, “And Crystal, if you want to know what is going on, just open the door and ask. That’s what connecting doors are for, they make it easier to communicate with the person on the other side, peering through keyholes is just so juvenile,” he advised as he stalked out. “I’m going for coffee in the factory, you’ve got twenty minutes, Brad, max. Let’s get it done, shall we?”And with that, he was off, rubber soled trainers silent on the smooth wood flooring.

  He looked good in jeans, Crystal registered as she admired his neat bum in the snug fitting denim, she’d not seen him casually dressed before.

  “Oops,” Brad laughed. “That’s both of us in trouble. He was in a good mood today too. Must have had a good weekend, Verity reckons he must have got laid.”

  Crystal smacked Brad, hard, on the upper arm.“Don’t spread gossip, you don’t know anything about his private life.”

  Brad pulled her closer, his eyes darkened slightly, he liked playing games with Crystal. Especially when it gave him an excuse to hold her close like this, she smelled of exotic perfume and spices, feminine laced with a hint of the unexpected.

  “Don’t play rough Crystal,” he chided gently. “Or I might be inclined to reciprocate, and then where would we be, eh?”

  Crystal had a fair idea. He reminded her of a playful puppy, perhaps a Labrador or a Red Setter, but he had a certain steely quality about him too. If she wasn’t off men for the moment, she may just have been tempted, but as it was, she needed to let him down gently. Her face clouded over, and she pushed him to arm’s length. “No more games today, Brad. You have work to do, and so do I. Let’s stick to work in the office eh?”

  He let her go easily enough. “Yes, very unprofessional in the office. Right. It’s all your own fault, madam, anyhow. I thought you were my girlfriend, we have a date on Friday, don’t we? The lengths a guy has to go to around here to get to see you. I’ve left messages galore, and you haven’t returned one of my calls,” he complained.

  Crystal had a sudden thought. “I did tell you that it’s fancy dress, didn’t I?” she asked.

  “No, madam, you didn’t. But Verity did, when I was in with Jazz last week, sorting out the electrics, so I’ve got my costume all ready. All I need to know, is what time to pick you up.”

  Crystal frowned. “I’ve got a busy day on Friday. There’s a company meeting here in the morning that I can’t get out of, and then I’ll be up at the farm for most of the day supervising Aunt Vera and Lolly, I don’t trust them to get the last minute preparations right, but I should be back at gran’s by 6 o’clock, latest. That should give me plenty of time to get showered and changed.”

  The sound of high heels charging down the corridor at a terrific pace, precluded Verity dashing into the room in a panic, curls bouncing in the rush.

  “Where’s Jazz,” she demanded without preamble, glancing straight at Brad, barely registering Crystal, still wrapped up in his arms.

  Brad raised an eyebrow. Verity in a flap was quite a sight. Cheeks flushed pink, hair awry and breasts raging to escape from one of the skimpy blouses that she favoured, she had a wild appeal that his male hormones couldn’t fail to register.

  “Trouble out back,” she panted. “A whole car load of photographers from the local rag, people waving banners and a bunch of people all digging in the swamp. I’ve no idea what is going on, it’s right over the other side of the estate, we don’t have cameras over there yet, there’s nothing of value there.”

  Apart from the folly, Crystal thought, and that was an unlikely source of attraction. The timing was strange, what with the meeting coming up this Friday, but the board were hardly likely to send the press pack in, negative publicity would ruin the business.

  Brad disengaged his arms from around Crystal’s midriff and moved to take both of Verity’s flailing hands in his own.

  She could sure break a mood, Crystal thought, uncharitably. Quite forgetting that was exactly what she had been attempting to do herself, not two minutes earlier. There was something about Jeremy’s girlfriend that she couldn’t quite place, but she wasn’t sure yet if she liked her or not.

  “Ok, slow down,” he instructed.“Jazz is over in the factory, I’ll go and get him for you, if you like. You’ll never manage to run over there in those heels, and if you go walking in there looking like that, you’ll stop production for sure.”

  When Verity looked like she might argue, he continued, “Trust me, I’ll bring him back for you, promise. Now, see if you can find out what they are up to. Ring the local paper and ask them, for a start. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”And with that, he was gone, off down the corridor in Jazz’s wake.

  Crystal was left with Verity. “I’ll ring the paper,” she offered, “you go and tidy your hair, and your make-up, you look a fright.”

  Jazz pushed back in his plush leather ‘directors’ chair so that the padded back support flexed out generously, allowing him the leverage to prop up his bare feet on the large antique desk. His mud encrusted trainers were lined up neatly by the radiator, drying out, and his ruined socks lay in the bottom of the wastepaper basket, already beginning to give off a distinctly musty whiff. A piping hot mug of aromatic, dark coffee nestled loosely in the palm of his hand and he consulted his watch, it had been a very long day. They’d only just finished rounding up the last of the protesters and scooted them off the land.

  It hadn’t helped that by the time he’d arrived on the scene, some bright spark had already pasted details of the rumpus onto their Facebook site and had managed to advertise the ruckus to all and sundry. It was just as well it was a frosty night and the sky as clear as a bell, which had caused the temperature to plummet to way below freezing, it was probably the only thing that had coerced them all into leaving, eventually, Jazz reflected.

  He smiled, he wasn’t sure who had been more surprised, himself or Crystal, when Hetty had emerged from the centre of the bunch of students, her usually immaculate hair tied up in a bright red bandanna and plaster cast carefully wrapped in an old bin liner and stuck down with ‘Barbie’ sticky tape, crutches at the ready, to declare loudly that she was president of the ‘save the Desmoulins whorl snail in Wiltshire campaign’.

  There had followed a brief interlude where the press had fired questions at Hetty about the plight of this rare and protected species, which no-one in the vicinity had ever heard of, and Hetty insisted that she ‘knew’ was resident in these parts. It was a well-kept family secret, she said.

  Bernard had scratched his head thoughtfully, and commented that it was the first he’d heard of it. Hetty had sent him the kind of look that broadcast ‘shut up now’, and he’d retreated into silence, looking from Jazz to Hetty in total confusion. He had no idea which one of them paid his wages these days and he had no intention of antagonising either of them, only an imbecile would tangle with Hetty when she was on one of her missions, as he’d learned to his cost, many moons ago.

  Jazz was very aware of more than one newspaper reporter, quietly taking notes and snapping away with a camera and had no intention of turning what was already an awkward situation into a media circus. He’d dealt with the press before. Unfortunately, he was out of his depth here. He knew some of the more prominent London journalists quite well, had spent many an hour drinking with them in his student days, if the truth was known, but here, in the wilds of Wiltshire he was just a ‘city smart magnate’ here to ravage the countryside, or that’s how he thought the situation might be portrayed. He’d had to tread very carefully.

  In an effort to placate the placard waving ‘peace’ brigade, he’d offered to help in the search for the elusive snail, reiterating that the company was a caring ‘family’ concern, and all nature and wildlife would be protected.

  Now though, as he relaxed back into his chair and felt the warmth begin to return to his feet, he wondered how Hetty had got wind of his proposals anyhow. It was obvious that this was a smokescreen to cast doubt over the plans he was about to unveil on Fr
iday. None of the paperwork for the board meeting had been kept here in the office and he’d hired a firm of London lawyers to deal with the planning proposals. The minutes that had been released to the board members had merely stated that extensive work had been undertaken to look at all opportunities for expansion of the site and two possible avenues had emerged as viable business propositions. Both avenues would be explored thoroughly and the proposals would be put before the board at an extraordinary general meeting.

  He’d hoped to generate interest by the wording of the invitation, and had purposely failed to outline exactly what the planning proposals entailed, as the last time they’d held a board meeting he and Verity had been the only two in attendance, and Verity was there in her capacity as secretary to take the minutes. It had been a very short and productive meeting as he’d passed all motions, voted for the other board members in their absence and done exactly as he pleased without any opposition, but he really needed the full board in on these decisions, hence the secrecy and mysticism. There was nothing like a bit of drama to capture the board members’ imaginations. It looked as though his plan might have backfired, slightly. He’d not banked on full scale opposition.

  He reached down into his bottom drawer and pulled out a small hip flask, setting the half drunk coffee down onto the desk. Releasing the catch on the flask he passed the neck of the cask under his nose, savouring the aroma of a really good bourbon. He raised the flask to his lips and swigged it, smooth and mellow, straight out of the holder. Within three seconds, the liquid trailed a rich fire down the back of his throat, exploding into a mini starburst of heat as it hit his stomach, warming his insides and relaxing the tension which the day’s activities had been building in his gut. There was nothing else in this world quite like it. He smiled.

  He had no idea how long he sat there, contemplating the world, his job, lifestyle and any other number of manly concerns, but he’d finished off the good quality stuff first and had been reduced to rummaging about for a bottle of Jack Daniels which his housekeeper had bought for him last Christmas. The bottle now stood two-thirds full in the middle of his desk, it had also been necked straight out of the bottle, he couldn’t be arsed to go and fetch a proper glass.

  He’d brought the liquor into the office a few weeks ago, to put into the draw for the office party, but somehow he hadn’t got around to parting with it. He went back to ruminating upon the events of the day. He shuddered to think of the photos that might emerge from his latest impromptu PR initiative, grubbing around in the dirt with a bunch of ramshackle do good ‘chase the snail’ protesters. He hoped that the local rag didn’t pick up on the wider picture and offer their cheap snapshots to the ‘Fleet Street’ dailies or it would be all around town in no time. His street cred would be down there in the dirt, along with the snails.

  His friends and colleagues in London all thought he was barmy, taking on this job here anyhow, and he’d not deemed it necessary to explain his reasoning to them, his decision was personal. They were already calling him ‘Farmer John’, behind his back. It sure was a cut-throat profession.

  Footsteps echoed along the corridor outside his office, too light and too hesitant to be Bernard or one of the other night guards. Jazz tensed up, who was in here now, at this time of the night, sneaking about? He doubted that they were up to any good. He was in just the right mood for a bit of a scuffle.

  He slid silently to his feet, dimming the desk lamp automatically, and picked up the letter opener from the desk to slide it into the tight front pocket of his jeans, feeling the cold steel against his leg through the thin cotton of the lining. You could never be too careful. Now that the protesters had been rebuffed, they might have sent the ‘heavies’ in. He’d doubled the guard tonight as a precautionary measure, Bernard was doing an extra shift, some of these protesters knew some pretty unsavoury characters.

  The door handle jiggled as someone tried unsuccessfully to insert a key into the already unlocked door. The key twisted again and the handle turned.

  He had the advantage, standing silently to one side as the door creaked open. He didn’t give the guy time to react. As the intruder took one faltering step into the room, he pounced. It took mere seconds to grapple with his assailant and now he held him restrained in a half nelson, flattened to the floor. He held the back of the guy’s neck to restrain him and prevent him from making any sudden moves. He’d not put up any resistance, Jazz registered, and he was a bit of a scrawny fellow too.

  “Let me go, Jazz,” the bundle instructed, as a tendril of white blonde hair sneaked free from the dirty, wet, baseball cap.

  He swore, violently.

  Then turned his assailant over to make sure, still straddling her body with his own. All together different emotions were roiling inside his guts now. What the hell was she doing here tonight, sneaking into his office like a thief?

  The combination of the day’s trauma, the whisky and the sight of Crystal, buttons on her blouse undone in the tussle and furious pink underwear uncovered, were his undoing. Bloody woman, she was driving him nuts. She’d had this coming for a long time, he couldn’t remember a second when he wasn’t obsessed with what she was doing or what she was, or wasn’t, wearing.

  She just lay there, laughing up at him, wayward eyes dancing in amusement, cap falling off and hair spilling out over the hard shiny parquet of the office floor. She didn’t look even slightly reticent or apologetic, and right at this moment he didn’t care what she’d been up to either. It may not be the place, but it was definitely the time alright.

  She made no move to stop him as he swore again, colourfully, and moved in for the kill.

  He’d run just this scenario through in his mind, a dozen times in the past week, each time embroidering her reaction in his mind’s eye until he felt as if he’d been here with her before. He’d had plenty of time to run through the possibilities, while he stared at a blank computer screen and called it work. He’d intended to approach her slowly, seductively, he was a grown man, after all, but now that he had her here, between his thighs, her breathing was shallow and her pupils dilated, a hank of her hair splayed out brightly, against the hard industrial flooring. Testosterone flooded his brain and he breathed in that warm combination of the musky perfume she always wore, mixed with the damp earthiness of the swamp.

  Thoughts transferred into action and he dived for her bra strap, his body doubling up as he surged forward, allowing the steel opener, secreted so discreetly in his front pocket, to dig forcefully and painfully into the muscle and flesh of his upper thigh. Unexpected and unwelcome, the pain caused him to howl in anguish and roll sideways onto the hard floor beside her, clutching at his groin. Expletives rolled from his tongue, thick and fast, but not those of an ardent lover, the vernacular of a man in pain.

  Crystal jolted upright, what the f…?

  “Jazz, speak to me!” she squealed, as she slid sideways to bend over him where he was laid out, supine on the floor, rocking gently from side to side, his jaw clenched in pain. Her long blonde hair spilled out of the cap and rained down, brushing his face, as she immediately tried to ascertain what he’d damaged. It didn’t look good, his eyes were closed, he was swearing profusely now, through gritted teeth, and he was still clutching at his groin. He’d gone rather white. She tentatively stretched out a hand, towards his crotch.

  He finally ran out of swear words, and opened his eyes, managing a weak smile.“Don’t worry darling, it’s still all there,” he growled, cynically.

  He tipped his hips sideways to transfer the weight over onto one cheek and reached down hesitantly, to remove the letter opener from the tight front pocket of his jeans. Of all of the fucking stupid things to do, this had to be an absolute classic. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. He’d had Crystal exactly where he wanted her, and he’d totally screwed it up. The fire pounding through his veins right now may have been ignited by blistering passion, but he’d managed to turn it to pure aggression in one split second.


  Crystal’s eyes widened in surprise, as the shiny steel emerged. What in the world was he doing with that in there?

  Now that the object had been removed, he attempted to swallow down his regret and maybe do what he could to restore the situation. With a quick calculated glance at Crystal, he rose lithely to his feet and deliberately dropped his jeans to the floor, to inspect the damage, presenting her with a clear view of his prize asset, fully clothed but clearly still aroused. Simultaneously, Crystal moved up onto her high knees, following his lead. As she leaned in towards him, the door crashed open, without warning, rocking back on its hinges to reveal Bernard and the night guard framed in the doorway, blunt objects in hand, ready to confront whatever disaster was occurring in the boss’s office.

  For the second time in a week, Crystal yelped in surprise and wished that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. The two men wore identical expressions, as they took in the sight of Jazz, half dressed, erect and proud and obviously in the middle of some sex act or another, proffering his groin to Crystal, who was grovelling about on her knees, breasts exposed, staring fixedly at his crotch with her hand outstretched.

  “Get the fuck, out,” Jazz bellowed abruptly, and they shut the door on reflex. Incredulous shock mirrored on both wizened old faces.

  Crystal sagged to the floor, red faced and head in hands, while Jazz took inventory of his injuries, laughing now, quite openly. He’d not done any major damage, physically, just dented his pride and dragged Crystal’s reputation a little further down into the dirt, if that was possible. He crouched down beside her, and lifted her chin. There was no hope of resurrecting the situation now, he may as well give up on that score, some things were just not meant to be.

  “All present and correct, beautiful. No lasting harm done. How are you, young lady?”he asked, giving her the benefit of his best ‘brotherly’ smile. He shelved all thoughts of ‘what might have been’ and switched into professional mode, the passion had been very effectively doused not once, but twice, he’d be sleeping alone tonight.